Dirty Little Secret
by Nakano Aika
Summary: Both words comprise of four syllables, both words awaken feelings one didn’t think one could have nor even have. Maybe that’s why sometimes it is hard to tell them apart from each other; lust and love. --ryomaXsakuno--


**Dirty Little Secret**

Chapter One

"The Person"

* * *

To put it plainly, she was _tuckered up_. Last shooting session had actually taken almost six hours to finish. Not _quite_ six hours, but when those five-hours-and-fifty-something-minutes had lasted continuously being repleted with flashing cameras and inquiries for her to showcase her _best_ poses, it became a moot point. If she would be so frightfully honest to complain, she would even say those photographers had been trying to rob her off of her eyesight.

And then there were also those inexorable reporters who hunted her down painfully nearly everywhere she went. Last time she had gone to visit her grandmother wearing _just_ a t-shirt and jeans, she had been ambushed by a bunch of them and ended up on the front page of a meticulous entertainment magazine. It _had_ to be one of those top-ranked magazines too, and of course, the fact that her cheap, pastel blue t-shirt had been spilled with patches of pink ice-cream could not be neglected. They _had_ to make a fuss over it, they _had_ to be clamorous and they certainly _had_ to print hurtful remarks about it all the way through.

One of these days, Sakuno thought despondently, every popular artist would be driven to madness and the media clan would squeeze the hugest profits out of it. They would never cover the topic "Why" though, because the answers by then would have been too obvious.

Sakuno slipped her keycard through the digital scanner then pushed in the gilded door to her apartment, already longing to submerge herself in a tub of warm, bubbly, scented water bath. There was nothing more desirable than a quiet, exclusive time in the shower after a day's hard work. Although, she had barely kicked her cream-violet slingbacks off of her feet when she looked up and saw _the_ _person_ sitting on her plush, imported sofa in the living room.

The person was lounging rather comfortably, if she must mention, facing the animated large screen on the wall that was her plasma TV. His left arm was rested along the sofa's top, holding a crystal-clear wineglass which she knew was one of her own; it was only a quarter filled, and inside the rich, amber liquid rolled hypnotically as his hand idly moved it around.

Caught off guard, Sakuno fumbled with her matching purse, in all its glory of its latest trend, trying to both turn it into a potential weapon and pull out her cell phone to punch at the speed dial that was her manager's number.

Before she could set any plan in motion, the person turned his head slightly, perhaps finally noticing that the right owner to the apartment had returned. He looked at Sakuno once, and he cracked a light, unconcerned smile.

"Welcome home." he greeted.

If Sakuno could not help it, she would have jumped and screamed. Maybe even danced around frantically a bit.

Fortunately, she managed to resist.

"Ryo… Ryoma-kun?"

He gave no confirmation, but it was unmistakable that he was, Echizen Ryoma; her teenage-years' heartthrob (and highly likely many other girls' too), the prince of tennis in the school and beyond. That was, until he returned to the United States a few months before graduation, and since then was only seen by those in Japan through the magazines and screens.

It had been quite five years since they last met.

His eyes stared at Sakuno for too long to be polite, not to mention they were scrutinizing her painstakingly from the toe, slowly traveling up to her face. The fact that he did it openly with a straight face did not help to ease Sakuno's anxiety. She had never felt so… Naked.

"What happened to the too-long braids?" he asked, so abruptly it took Sakuno ten seconds to realize that he was talking about her hair.

Too-long braids gone; her brown hair now reached only past her shoulders, flowing loosely in wavy curls which she hoped made her look more mature and businesslike. When she had first somersaulted into the entertainment industry, several times she had almost been tricked into the dirtiest parts of the industry. She liked to think it was because of her hair, but if she was so humble to take the blame, she would have to admit that her stuttering and obsessively shy nature had played some roles too. And _that_ was one of the strongest reasons why Osakada Tomoka became her manager (Sakuno would not _really_ know, because _all_ the reasons were actually introduced by Tomoka herself).

Self-consciously, Sakuno's hand moved to tuck her hair behind her ear.

"I-I… T-Tomoka said it-it would be best if I cut it." she explained. But really, what was this? She was twenty three, for crying out loud. She had successfully (after a harrowingly _great_ effort) thrown away the stuttering flaw, but now just by looking at Echizen Ryoma she became twelve again. Sakuno was determined not to look him in the eye. She was dead sure his brown eyes were spellbinding. Instead, she focused on his lips, which were red… and full… and invitingly wet from the wine… which made them all the more totally kissable--_okay._ Those were actually _far_ dangerous. Sakuno fixated her gaze on his perfect nose. "Um, Ryoma-kun? Why… How did you get into my apartment?"

See? Her stuttering had vanished.

She knew it was his eyes all along.

With the grace and composure only _he_ could demonstrate, Ryoma took the remote control from the low coffee table and turned off the television. Then, as if he had been living in the apartment for even longer than Sakuno, he switched on the stereo instead.

"Your manager gave me her spare keycard." he answered as an English song wafted in the air. Sakuno almost cringed; _Mistake Number 2_, the song was. Even Ryoma seemed to think the music was too mellow to fit the atmosphere, so absentmindedly he changed the station. And then they both froze; _Bad Romance _blared up the apartment suggestively. "Aren't there any good CDs?" he asked in his monotonic voice. "I couldn't find one anywhere."

"T-they're in my room." Sakuno said.

"That's the one place I didn't go look." Ryoma replied vacantly, his eyes watching the lazy swirl of the amber liquid in the wineglass held between his fingers.

Sakuno observed that he was wearing black Levi's and a red t-shirt underneath a brown windbreaker. On her coffee table there was a gleaming silver cell phone, a dark-colored purse, a pair of sunglasses and a cap with the letter "R" patterned on it, which Sakuno considered typical of him. But admittedly, even when she had seen Echizen Ryoma in those magazines and screens the past five years; he looked even more intimidating in person. Intimidating in a really good, _pleasing-to-the-eyes_ way. It was amazing how he could act so casual about it. But then, maybe he _did_ notice, what's with the many herds of fanatic females charging at his heels every time he went public. After all, he was not _simply_ a professional tennis player. When you had both the talents and the looks, you _could not_ be simply. Even when you tried to.

While Sakuno contemplated all these, she watched the idle movement of his hand, until it suddenly stopped. When she looked, she saw that he was staring at her.

"It-it's just I never thought I would ever see… Ryoma-kun drinking wine." Sakuno explained, miserably wondering whether he had stopped drinking Ponta as well.

"Yeah?" Ryoma returned. "Sometimes I wear leather jacket too."

Sakuno reddened, blinking hard.

"I-I'll take out some CDs." she mumbled. And she practically flew to her bedroom.

Her exhaustion and complaints over the almost six hours shooting session was entirely out of her mind by then.

Sakuno clicked shut her bedroom's door and fished out her cell phone. She punched at the speed dial number and pressed the communication device to her ear. It only took four seconds before her manager's upbeat voice chimed in from the other line.

"How is it, Sakuno-chan? Have you got the present I sent you yet?" Tomoka asked, giggling conspiratorially.

Sakuno blinked.

"Why is Ryoma-kun _here_, Tomo-chan?" she whispered demandingly.

"Aww, why do you sound unhappy instead?" Tomoka whined.

"Some reporters could've been downstairs, they could've seen Ryoma-kun walking into my apartment." Sakuno reasoned. Really, too many times she felt that _she_ should be in charge here. Obviously, a manager was supposed to advise their artist to stay _out_ of scandals, whilst Tomoka seemed to be _encouraging_ her to jump into one. "And he's been _drinking_."

"Isn't that an opportunity you shouldn't let go?" Tomoka prompted, sounding very much urging.

Sakuno sighed.

"Ryoma-kun has a fiancée." she reminded.

Instead of backtracking and withdrawing her outrageous implications as Sakuno thought she would, Tomoka snorted as if the subject did not even matter.

"Huh, about that." Sakuno's manager muttered. "Well, let's just say he isn't married yet."

"_What_?" Sakuno fired back incredulously. She shook her head, deciding she should stop this insanity before it went any further. "No, Tomo-chan, I'm going to ask him to go elsewhere. What's he doing in Japan anyway?"

"He's just arrived, and those crazy reporters started chasing him right at the airport. He contacted Satoshi, and Satoshi contacted me. And I contacted you."

"You didn't." Sakuno pointed out. "You just gave the spare keycard to him _without_ contacting me first."

"Hey, Ryoma-sama needs a sanctuary. Do you want Ryoma-sama to be trampled by those reporters? And doesn't he look _so_ sexy? When Satoshi brought him to me before, he looked like a puppy caught in the headlights." Tomoka gushed fondly.

"You mean a _deer_ caught in the headlights."

"But puppy's much cuter."

Sakuno shook her head again.

"He would've known what to do even if you didn't help him, Tomo-chan." she insisted. "Those reporters don't trample people."

"You idols aren't exactly people. You idols are stories; targets; selling materials." Tomoka debated. "And besides, it's almost ten p.m. already; the weather's cold and Ryoma-sama has no one in Japan. His family's in the U.S., and he might not be able to get into a hotel easily without being harassed by some reporters or even worse, rapist fan girls… He's tired you know, after the flight and the run from the reporters just now… All in all, it's terribly risky for him to go out now."

If Tomoka quitted being a manager, Sakuno predicted she would make it big as a lawyer.

"_Fine_." she surrendered. "What am I supposed to do with him then?"

"Are you sure you want _my_ suggestion?" Tomoka wanted to confirm.

Did she?

"I'll just let him sleep on the couch tonight." Sakuno decided. She hung up on Tomoka's delirious giggles and threw her cell phone and purse on the bed, walking to the shelf on which there was a collection of what Ryoma called "good CDs" to be listened to. She selected a few tranquil classics with the hope they would induce sleep to Ryoma in the shortest time possible. That way she would not have to confront him longer than she was willing to. Not that she did not like the idea of having him around and seeing him again, it was just the effects he still had over her--the stammers, the fluttering heartbeat, the sweating palms, the blushes--were all unnerving. They were not in school anymore. They both had a life now, and a _different_ one at that. None of them needed any distractions. Certainly not Sakuno. "But one night won't hurt." she said to herself.

And she did hope she was right.

* * *

**Aika's Note~**

Let me know what you think about it? Thank you, :)


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